Science, Science, Do as You Will
by LittleFireDragon
Summary: When the cores fall back to Earth, Chell gives Wheatley one last chance, but GLaDOS has other ideas. For science and revenge, she uses him as a subject for the most traumatic experiment she can think of: changing an undying robot into a mortal human. In danger of losing himself forever, Wheatley clings to his identity and races to reverse the change – with lots of help, of course.
1. The Lilac Wood

**Author's Note/Preface: **Normally I'm actually not really fond of human!robots in Portal fics, but I think this is something a little bit different. Maybe it's just because I grew up watching _The Last Unicorn, _where becoming a human is a threat to the unicorn's very identity, but I always see the permanent transformation of an immortal (or pseudo-immortal) character into a mortal, or vice-versa, as something very _bad._

Just look at how turning into GLaDOS affected Caroline – she turned into a psychotic lunatic who forgot her own original identity. The same thing starts happening to Cave Johnson in the PTI. And yet the other robots – with no evidence to suggest they were ever human – are well-adjusted. Crazy, yes, but delusional crazy, not psychotic crazy. So I think it's reasonable to theorize that this negative reaction was from jumping the mortality barrier (even though, yes, there is evidence that _part _of GLaDOS's psychotic nature is from the mainframe itself), so wouldn't the same thing happen if an immortal turned into a mortal – especially given the robots' general disdain for humans? Most human!Wheatley fics don't address how _traumatic_ it would be for him, and I think that's a missed opportunity.

That said, you don't need to be familiar with _The Last Unicorn_ to appreciate this story, but you'll probably understand it on a slightly deeper level if you are familiar enough with the film and/or book to recognize and understand the references that have been woven into the dialogue and imagery. Even so, I'd recommend you watch the film anyway - it's a well-crafted story that is both part of and a partial deconstruction of the genre of fantasy and fairy tales... Just as this story is meant to both be an example of and partially deconstruct human!Wheatley fics.

I sincerely hope I am able to do justice to both Mr. Beagle's and Valve's masterpieces with this story, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I think I'll enjoy writing it.

I'd also like to give credit to Forte-girl7 of deviantArt; I'll be using her human!Wheatley design. I simply can't see him any other way.

* * *

"_The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone."_

* * *

Wheatley only half-listened to what the Space Core said anymore, and Rick had floated away into the distance ages ago. The blue-eyed robot no longer knew how long he'd been drifting around the moon, hearing the constant babble of the other core in orbit around him. Sometimes he could see the Earth – sometimes he could see Michigan. Whenever he did, he thought only of Chell. Oh, god, how sorry he was. What he wouldn't give to just tell her so.

"Ooh! There's Orion! Orion. The hunter. Shiny belt. So many stars." The Space Core never seemed to shut up – but Wheatley never completely tuned him out. He had nothing else to do with his time but listen to his hyperactive companion, and repent. So it was easy for the yellow-eyed robot to get Wheatley's attention when he spoke directly to him.

"Oh! Oh, look! Look! Do you see it? There's Monoceros! Monoceros the Unicorn! So faint. Hardly there. Zoom in. Increase contrast. Can you see it?"

Wheatley looked, if only because there was no reason not to. But he saw nothing in the stars. No shapes came to him, as they did to the Space Core. _It would probably help,_ Wheatley realized, _if I knew what a unicorn was._ "No mate. I don't see it."

The Space Core went silent for a moment, then responded disappointedly: "Oh."

Wheatley was about to turn his gaze back toward Earth, when he noticed something else floating around. Glad for the break from the monotony of space, he pointed it out. "Wait. Uh, do you see that, mate? What is that? Looks like some kind of device – or what's left of it, at any rate. Wonder what happened to- wait a minute, is it coming toward us? It _is_ coming toward us, innit? Is that- uh oh, do you think that's gonna hit us? Is it just me or does that- does that really seem like it's going to hit us?"

"Space collision. Get your space insurance ready. Space cops wanna see your space papers. Play it cool. Play it cool for the space cops."

* * *

Chell stretched and leaned against the mossy rocks, make-shift fishing pole in hand, as leaves fell and floated on the river like thin golden shards of sunlight. She'd tried hunting at first, but she wasn't very good with the shoddy bow she'd made, and guns were not even an option. But she had discovered that the rivers and streams of these woods held fish in plentiful abundance, and Chell had quickly mastered the art of angling.

Her lazy daze was shattered as her bobber plunged under the cold, sparkling water, and she quickly wound the line up, dragging a struggling trout onto the shore. That would be her dinner, gutted with a crude knife – really just a sharp rock tied to a stick – and cooked over a cozy fire. Perhaps with a side of wild blackberries or raspberries picked from the bushes around her home, an old cottage she had found in ruins not long after being released from Aperture. It was very small, and falling apart, but it was something, so the woman had made her home there, and over time had repaired and restored the building with what she could find, and even made some furniture. It wasn't pretty, but it worked. The Michigan winter could be harsh, but she'd be prepared. No matter how tough her life was now, compared to being a test subject, it was heavenly.

Chell looked up at the sky. The sun was nearing the horizon, and storm clouds hung heavy with rain; it was probably a good idea to head home soon.

* * *

A chime inside GLaDOS's mind alerted her that her lost personality cores had finally come back into range, and their coordinates were finally available. She immediately checked the numbers – longitude, latitude. Perfect. They weren't far – not nearly as far away as the first of the lost constructs had been, and even that one had been mercifully close. It had only taken two weeks to recover the Adventure Core – not very long, considering that it could easily have landed on the other side of the globe, or in the water that covered over 70% of the planet.

She ran the calculations, and the odds of all three cores landing safely and at a convenient distance were so abysmally low that she started experiencing rounding errors – which, with her processing capabilities, was quite impressive. And yet, it seemed that this was exactly what was happening.

Of course, she had hoped they'd fall into the middle of an ocean and sink, to be forgotten and overgrown, in time, with barnacles and mineral deposits until they vanished into the seabed. She certainly never wanted to see them again – especially not _him._ And she would have left them wherever they fell, without a second thought, if it weren't for the fact that she was hard-coded to be paranoid about Black Mesa. She could not allow Aperture technology – no matter how stupid or loathsome – to fall into their hands.

"Orange, Blue. I have a vital task for both of you. It _will_ be timed. According to satellite readings, the punishment for failure to complete the task in time will be a slow and painful death by water, along with a deduction of science collaboration points."

* * *

The clouds rolled in much faster than Chell had expected, gray and blue, lined from below with brick-red light from the setting sun. Thick with rain waiting to fall, the storm clouds obscured the foggy gold-and-peach glow in all but the lowest parts of the sky, while the world below slipped into twilight shadow, only touched here and there with fading copper light where the long shadows of the trees did not fall.

One such clearing drew the woman's attention – simply because it hadn't quite _been_ a clearing earlier. The saplings that had been there that morning now lay broken on the ground along a gash torn into the churned dirt, and undergrowth plants were strewn about or overturned along its edge.

Chell crept closer, stepping over a fallen sapling, and peered into the impact crater – for there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that that was exactly what this was. She froze when she saw the glint, faint as it was in this dying light, of metal. A metal sphere made of multiple sections, lying front-down in the dirt, unmoving and silent. Which one was this? She couldn't tell them apart without looking at their optic lights – and this one, if it was still active at all, was turned away from her. After a long pause, she walked around the core and approached from the side like a wary dog.

"'Ello? Is someone there?" an all-too-familiar voice called plaintively. Chell jerked back in surprise, then stood still, frozen in place by indecision. "Anyone? Is- is anyone there?" the robot called out again.

Now anger boiled up inside her as the memory of his betrayal came to her, clear as the day it had happened, and on impulse, Chell strode forward twice and threw the third step into a kick that dislodged Wheatley from his crater; he let out a yelp of alarm as he bounced and skidded on the dirt, while raindrops began to sprinkle down, spread thin and light. The robot landed at an angle, very nearly on his side, with his optic facing Chell. The blue light, already shrunken in distress, constricted into a pinprick when he saw her.

He looked away quickly, focusing his gaze into the dirt at his side. "I- Deserved that, I did. Honestly. Probably deserve more. Kicks, I mean. After- after what I did. To you." He glanced up at her fearfully, and immediately looked away again. The rain was picking up now, and somewhere far away, thunder boomed.


	2. The Rain Comes, Dreary

"_I am sorry; I have done you evil and I cannot undo it."_ – Schmendrick

* * *

Chell clenched her fists and stared at Wheatley. The only thing stopping her from kicking him again was indecision. She was furious and hurt and sorry all at once, unsure whether to lash out at the robot again, or cry, or – God forbid! – wrap herself around him like nothing had ever happened.

"I wish- I wish none of it had ever happened. I wish I could undo all of it, take it all back. I never meant- Everything I did to you- I- I was bossy, and monstrous, and… I'm so sorry." Wheatley raised his optic light to look at the woman. He couldn't tell if those were tears or raindrops on her cheeks and hanging from her eyelashes. "_I'm so sorry!_ I- I don't even know why I did it! I-" He paused and closed the shutters over his optic. Then, he opened his eye and looked skyward. It was definitely _raining_ now. "Anyway… I- I don't blame you. For- for hating me, I mean. I wouldn't forgive me either, if I were you. Which of course I'm not, but, um, you- you know what I mean." More thunder roared in the distance. He looked at the dirt next to him; it was wet now, turning muddy. The kind of thing that would muck up his mechanics pretty badly, not that it would matter for much longer. He couldn't bring himself to look at the human – to see the expression on her face. "I really wish I could take it all back," he said again.

Chell turned away, fists still clenched and heart still aching. She gritted her teeth and fought the lump in her throat as she started to walk away, hair damp and starting to clump together in the rain.

"Uh? Oh- oh you're leaving? You're leaving." Wheatley's optic went wider for a moment, then contracted as he looked at the ground again. "Can't say I blame you. I- I deserve this. Bein' left to rust. Not waterproof, of course. Probably for the best, that. Deserve that fate, shortin' out…"

Chell continued to walk away from the robot, her conscience fighting with itself. He was lying, trying to guilt-trip her, just trying to save himself, _again_; he was sincere, he didn't expect her to come back, he really believed he deserved to rust away in the mud. He'd intended to turn on her all along, he'd never been her friend; the mainframe was to blame, he couldn't handle that sort of power.

"_I'm sorry…_" he said quietly, one more time, and shut his optic, resigning himself to his fate, the fate a traitor like him deserved. Hopefully it wouldn't take long. He could feel the cold, sharp pain of water seeping into him already.

Wheatley's optic snapped open when he felt himself being lifted off the ground. He swiveled and rotated his camera as best he could to look up at Chell, confused, grateful, and a bit afraid. "What? Are- are you…?" His fears were assuaged somewhat when the woman bowed over him, so as to shield the robot from the merciless rain with her body, as much as she could. "Oh – thank you. _Thank you. _Even after everything I did to you, you still- _thank you!_"

* * *

ATLAS hesitantly came out from under the rocky overhang he'd been taking cover beneath. The testing android pushed hanging moss and dead vines out of his way as he emerged into the moonlight. Soggy fallen leaves stuck to his feet. He beeped and warbled sadly – he'd never been away from P-body for so long before, and he missed her terribly. But they'd been given jobs to do, for the first time since they were built, that took them different places, and they were not about to disobey GLaDOS.

The blue-eyed robot looked skyward. It was late now, and through the clouds – which had finally let up their watery assault on all things electronic – he saw the moon. This "Outdoors" was a strange place; he and P-body had experienced it once before, when they'd been tasked with recovering the Adventure Core. Those first steps had been the androids' equivalent to stepping through a wardrobe and finding themselves in Narnia – but now, Outdoors seemed foreboding and lonely. ATLAS just wanted to finish his job and go back _home_ – back to P-body.

So imagine how he fretted when he reached the coordinates GLaDOS had given him, and found only a muddy, empty crater. He clawed uselessly at the mud, looked under branches far too small to be hiding what he was looking for – and he _knew_ so. But he'd simply never been faced with this sort of challenge before. The only thing he knew was trying harder, trying new methods – and he'd always had his partner to help him. He'd never before been met with a goal that simply _wasn't there._ It was like being dropped into a test chamber only to find it empty, and with no exit. And he was terrified of what GLaDOS would do if he failed.

But after hours of pointless, confused searching and circling, he finally began the trek home, crestfallen.

* * *

Wheatley wasn't really sure what was going on. Chell had taken him to a cottage in the woods and perched him atop a chair in the corner, but ever since she'd put him there, she'd ignored him entirely – refusing to so much as look at him. She went about cleaning and gutting the fish on a stone slab with a knife made of animal bone, even as he continued to apologize and explain himself. Eventually he just went quiet.

He examined his surroundings – the building was mostly made of stone, with wood planks in some places. Two of the windows even had glass in them – the others had been fitted with fine twine nets made from some sort of plant fibers, and covered with wooden shutters to keep out the cold. Most of the furniture was built out of branches – most still covered in bark – tied together with rough, frayed rope. It wasn't pretty, but it worked like a charm – just like the tools the woman had made from found objects. The fireplace seemed to be original to the building, though, and all it needed was a little firewood, which had been easy enough to procure; Chell was cooking her trout over the flame. All in all, it was a pretty cozy little home.

Suddenly, the little robot realized he had never once addressed the human by name. He'd read it on the label of her stasis chamber, but never actually said it. After a moment of indecision, he simulated the sound of clearing his throat, and said, "Uh… Chell…"

The woman stopped what she was doing immediately and looked at him. He glanced down at the ground, then looked back at her.

"You didn't have to- to bring me here. After I was so monstrous. But you did. Bring me in from the rain, I mean. And… I want to thank you again."

Chell looked at him, her face unreadable, for a minute, then nodded in acknowledgement. That gave Wheatley enough reassurance to keep him quiet until much, much later, when Chell had already gotten into bed and pulled the moose-fur blanket over her.

"Um… Are you awake?" The woman didn't react, but Wheatley continued anyway. "I'm… still not quite clear on, uh, what… where we stand. Um. Do you… forgive me?" Still nothing. Wheatley looked down at the floor. "Hm. Must be asleep, I guess." He paused. "Sleep well, luv. You're an angel, you really are."

* * *

"What do you mean, 'it wasn't there?'" GLaDOS demanded, her optic light narrowing to a slit. ATLAS crouched down and tried to hide behind P-body, which didn't work too well, since she was so much thinner than he was. "Orange, once again you've demonstrated that you are more competent than your partner. Perhaps you'd like to prove you can succeed where Blue has failed?"

P-body tapped her fingers together, warbled, and chirped a few times.

"I doubt it, but if you insist," GLaDOS replied, and checked the coordinates again. "Oh my. You were right. The little moron's coordinates _have_ changed." She swiveled uncomfortably. "Which means _someone must have moved him._ And if that someone is working for Black Mesa… Oh, this is not good."

P-body and ATLAS beeped quietly at each other. Black Mesa filled the same role for the two androids as storybook dragons and demons did for small human children – except that Black Mesa was very, very real.

"Well, his coordinates are stable, so he's not moving. Blue, Orange – you have a new assignment. Do _not_ fail me."

* * *

Chell hadn't really been paying much attention as she harvested the fruits of a blackberry bush, gilded in the morning light; her mind was otherwise occupied – but then, picking berries didn't exactly require a lot of focus. All morning she'd been thinking about what to do with Wheatley, about whether she could forgive him after everything he'd done. The longer she thought about it, the more she considered his words, she found, the more she believed him – that something had come over him that wasn't entirely his own fault, and that banishment to the moon and the constant nagging of his own guilty conscience had been punishment enough. And he had mentioned something about the mainframe, and how even he didn't understand what had come over him when he was plugged into it. It would have seemed like a shoddy excuse, but Chell thought there might actually have been something to it. After all, GLaDOS had still been unpleasant as a potato, but she hadn't been _vicious_ as she normally was. Who was to say that the mainframe wasn't to blame? Even if it wasn't, there was that old saying about absolute power…

The wind picked up as she walked home, blowing leaves off the trees all around her like fire-colored snow. She _wanted_ to forgive him. He'd been the only one in Aperture to be _friendly_ to her – and indeed that was why his betrayal had hurt so much. But now she saw that it had hurt him nearly as much as it had her. Perhaps things could start anew.


	3. In Need of My Help

"'_Where you are going now,' Schmendrick answered, 'few will mean you anything but evil, and a friendly heart – however foolish – may be as welcome as water one day._'"

* * *

As she arrived at her destination, she was shaken from her thoughts. She certainly wasn't expecting to come home to _this_. Her door had been torn down; leaves had blown in and were strewn across the floor. Chell's mind immediately jumped to bears; they would start hibernating soon, so they were out looking for food at all times. But then she noticed the odd footprints in the wet soil outside and on the floor inside. These were definitely not bear tracks. Allayed of one fear and instilled with another, Chell stepped inside and put the crude basket of berries down in shock as she looked around her cottage. Aside from mud and leaves on the ground, and some overturned furniture, nothing seemed out of place, with one glaring exception: Wheatley was nowhere to be seen. With a cold and sinking feeling, Chell realized what had happened, and where the little robot had been taken.

She stood in the doorway and stared out in the direction the footprints led off to. An icy wind picked up and blew through her hair, but she didn't move. She didn't know what to do. Should she go after Wheatley, or just leave him to his fate? She'd saved him from the rain – morally speaking, that was all she was really obliged to do. Now he was GLaDOS's problem. On the other hand, she'd been pretty much ready to give him a second chance. Was leaving him with GLaDOS really any better than abandoning him in the rain?

Chell looked at the damage to the door – nothing major. The hinges had just been knocked out of place and one needed a new axis; the nails were still there, they just needed to be pounded back into the door. She put a small, hard twig into the hinge with the missing axis, figuring it would hold for now, propped the door back up, and used a rock to start hammering the nails back into the wood. Her mind, of course, wasn't on the repair.

Wheatley had betrayed her, yes; abandoned and forsaken her when she needed him most. So he deserved to have the same done to him. But at the same time, that really wouldn't make her much better; two wrongs didn't make a right. _An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind._

As she bashed the last nail into the door, she made her decision, and determination filled her. She latched the repaired door to keep the animals out, and turned to follow the tracks.

* * *

Chell stood in the wheat field before the unassuming entrance of Aperture Laboratories, looking for all the world as though she were about to unlock the gates of Tartarus. Fists clenched, she took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and opened her eyes. She had nothing but the long-fall boots strapped to her feet. No portal gun, no weapons; nothing. What she was about to do was crazy and she knew it.

Her hand shook as she pulled on the door to the little shack. It resisted momentarily, then came free and swung open with a creak. No turning back now. She was nervous, there was no denying that, but she went onward anyway. The elevator was waiting for her, as she'd guessed it would be. As far as Chell knew, GLaDOS always sent elevators back to the tops of their shafts unless she knew she'd be using them soon. And though the robot had control of each one, they also had buttons – intended for the ill-fated human employees to use. Unless GLaDOS was paying attention to this elevator in particular, Chell could easily take control of it, at least for the journey into the depths. She stepped into the claustrophobic lift and, with a trembling finger, pushed the down button. She knew where it would take her, and no sooner had the doors closed than she regretted it. _What am I doing?!_ she asked herself.

Floors, walls, and lights shifted upward past her, one after another – until Chell's elevator came to a sudden stop. A feeling like poison and ice spread from her gut as frost grows on a window. She looked over her shoulder through the glass; a bipedal robot with a purple optic stared back, hand on a button.

"Please assume the Party Escort Submission Position," it said, as the elevator doors opened.

Chell's fear turned to anger. _Oh, hell no,_ she thought, narrowing her eyes and gritting her teeth. Her muscles tensed and she scanned her environment. The Party Escort Bot moved toward her, and she sprang like a bolt from a crossbow; the android tried to grab her as she passed by, but she ducked and skidded under the claws on the springs of her long fall boots, leaving a trail of sparks in her wake.

The woman sprinted toward the staircase and dug one heel into the ground, using the boot as a brake as she turned to face the robot. She glared at the machine, focusing on its optic, challenging it, _daring_ it. _Come and get me._ Her plan worked perfectly; the AI understood that if it wanted to take Chell into custody, it would have to catch her. This time, it didn't just lunge, it charged – it was fast, to be sure, but Chell was faster. She dodged to the side and the robot flew past, crashing into the handrail. The bars creaked and groaned, some coming out of their slots, but this confrontation wasn't over yet.

The adrenaline was in full effect now. Chell shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to another, ready to dodge again. The robot looked very annoyed, but this was what it was programmed to do; it had no other option but to continue. Chell was just frustratingly uncooperative. The Party Escort Bot tried again, and again, as she led it in a circle around the elevator. Once she thought she had it where she wanted it, she broke from her pattern and made a mad dash for the staircase. The android had knocked one of the bars below the handrail completely free of one socket, so the woman could easily pull it from the other. _Now_ she could fight back!

The automaton, with no backup protocol, simply kept trying. This time Chell didn't dodge out of the way; she used the bar like a quarterstaff, blocking the mechanical arm and pushing it aside. She pulled the rod back, flipped it back over her shoulder like a fishing pole and thrust it, bottom first, into the plastic shield covering a joint. The robot buzzed and beeped in alarm and made another attempt to grab the woman, one arm now slower than the other and impeded by plastic shards in the works. Chell crouched, letting the claws fly over her head, stepped to the side, and used the bar to vault away several feet, landing near the elevator.

The android charged once more, and this time Chell sidestepped and used the pole to knock the robot's foot out from under it. Unable to stop itself, it crashed into the elevator. Sparks flew and the elevator dropped like a stone, while the robot bounced off to the side and skidded across the floor, face down.

"Critical system error. System shutting down," it said.

Chell couldn't stop the slightest hint of a triumphant smirk from crossing her face, even as she looked at the now-empty elevator shaft. Every solution created new problems, it seemed. A vivid memory of falling down the shaft into Old Aperture came to her mind's eye, and she shook her head to clear the memory, her smile instantly fading. It was Wheatley who'd sent her plummeting down there, and yet here she was, facing the same situation, to _help him._ By God, _why?_

Biting her lip, the woman looked down the seemingly-bottomless shaft. Now how would she get down there? She could press her back against one wall and her feet against the other, and _climb_ down, but the elevator shaft's glass shutters were lowered by default; how would she get out when she reached her destination? What if she fell? There had to be some other way.

Chell examined her surroundings. There was nothing that could help her. But she couldn't give up, not even if she wanted to. There was no way to go but forward – _downward._ She looked around again, as though that would somehow make something useful magically appear from thin air, but of course there was still nothing. She glanced at the metal pole in her hand. There really was no other way. She'd have to add one more entry to the list of suicidally stupid things she'd done within Aperture's halls.

She sat down at the edge of the shaft, gathered her courage, and slipped into the abyss. With her back pressed to the wall and the metal bar clutched tightly to her chest, Chell slowly inched her way down, down, into the darkness. And she kept going, each minute a century in her mind, until she reached _that_ chamber. She felt weak from the difficult climb, and she quivered like a terrified dog. This was it.

She bashed the end of the pole against the glass of the tube that surrounded the elevator stop, once, twice. _Crash!_ She'd broken through! She chipped the glass away from the edges, making an opening big enough for her to fit through and breaking the glass all the way to two of the three beams that supported the glass tube. She put the rod through and turned it so it would catch against the steel beams. This was the most dangerous part of her plan. Wrapping one arm around the pole and gripping it with both hands and all her strength, she used it to support her weight while she put one foot, then the other, against the floor's corner. Then she threw her weight forward and stumbled out of the elevator, and immediately collapsed.

She stayed there for a moment, on her hands and knees, breathing hard and shaking. She'd made it! Chell, still trembling, smiled; she was alive! She got to her feet, gulped, and dusted herself off. The woman gathered her courage, and turned her fear to resolve. She couldn't afford to be afraid right now.

Chell strode with new confidence, long-fall boots clicking against the floor and echoing in the silence, into the room – GLaDOS's chamber. Though she was ready to face the AI, nothing in the world could have prepared her for the sight that lay before her.


	4. What Have You Done?

"_You are an idiot! Do you hear me? You've lost her! You've trapped her in a human body; she'll go mad!_" – Molly Grue

* * *

The massive robot was already turned toward Chell, and her yellow optic light narrowed in recognition – but the woman did not return her gaze. "Oh. It's you. I should have known that from the moment the elevator sent a distress signal. Well, why are you interrupting my experiments this time? I sent you away specifically to stop thi- What are you doing?"

Chell, ignoring GLaDOS entirely, ran to the middle of the room and knelt next to the young man who lay limp, face down on the ground. His hair was the color of caramel, and he was clad in a pale gray outfit and long-fall boots as black as a moonless night. Some sort of metal brace wrapped around his torso and connected to a circular white panel just below his shoulder blades, emblazoned with an azure Aperture logo. It _couldn't _be, it couldn't possibly!

She hesitantly turned the unconscious man over and cradled him gingerly in one arm as she checked for a pulse above the sapphire orb adorning his cravat, and as she did this, more evidence of the man's identity – what Chell already knew but could not believe – revealed itself. The front of the brace around his chest resembled the handles on a core, and there were three black buttons on the right lapel of his jacket. She looked at his face: calm as if in sleep, lips parted slightly, with thin-rimmed glasses perched atop the bridge of his nose.

The woman lifted her disbelieving stare to meet the angry yellow light above her. "The little moron isn't dead, if that's what you're wondering. At least not yet. I have to finish testing how long a Personality Construct's programming and memories last when uploaded into a wetware environment – to see if this is a viable alternative to testing real humans. They only last so long, you know, and that gets _expensive _after a while," GLaDOS crooned with sugar-coated spite. Chell's expression turned to shocked anger – shocked, not at GLaDOS's cruelty, but at the severity of the situation – and she glared at the AI until her attention was drawn away by the man stirring weakly in her arms.

When his eyes opened, they removed any and all doubts that may yet have lingered within Chell; nobody but Wheatley could have eyes _so blue,_ so bright and vivid that they seemed not just to reflect the light of their environment but to produce some of their own. Chell shook her head, brow furrowed slightly. _No, no, no,_ was all she could think. The robot-turned-human looked up at her in dizzy confusion, blinked rapidly as if in a sudden brightness, frowned, and suddenly understood his circumstances. His eyes widened, but his face remained calm – or perhaps, disbelieving – as he looked down at himself, still halfway lying on the floor and propped up in Chell's arms.

He raised a trembling, pale hand slowly, as if carefully steering its movement with great effort, and held it in front of his face. "What… what've you _done_ to me…?" he murmured, his voice quivering and uncertain. Wheatley stared at his new hand, at the fine, nearly-invisible hairs on the back of it, at the thin wrinkles on the knuckles, at the way tendons – _tendons! –_ shifted under the skin as he moved his fingers. He sat up unsteadily, and lifted his other hand to examine the blue veins showing through the underside of the wrist, the texture of wrinkles and ridges on his palms and fingertips.

Wheatley shuddered and closed his eyes tightly, as if to hide from himself, and he shook his head from side to side as he said again, "_What have you done to me?!_ Turn me back! I- I'm a robot; I'm a bloody robot! I can't-!" He silenced himself, or else lost his voice, overwhelmed by this smelly, soft, mortal prison of a human body. He could feel blood in his veins, and a pulse to drive it. There was mucus in his throat; there was oil and sweat in his skin; there was saliva in his mouth, wetting teeth and a fleshy tongue, with which came an unpleasant fifth sense, the taste of his own mouth. Wheatley lifted his bony knees up into his chest and made a pitiful attempt to curl into the safe and reassuring shape of a ball. "I can't live in this body…!" he protested almost inaudibly, his voice catching painfully in his throat like a bone.

Chell did her best to calm and comfort him, but he lifted his head and looked at her with the eyes of a caged animal, and she knew there was nothing she could do to help him – only GLaDOS could help him now, and that was as good as no help at all.

The woman wrapped her arms around Wheatley as he buried his face into his knees, and she held him to her chest as one might hold a frightened child. Then she turned a stare as sharp as swords toward the uncaring AI hanging above. She neither knew nor cared just how GLaDOS had done it, but she wanted it undone. "Why are you looking at me like that?" GLaDOS sounded more irritated than anything else. "Why should you care what happens to this little idiot, anyway? He tried to murder you, remember." The AI lifted herself toward the ceiling slightly, and swiveled from side to side in silent, sadistic glee. "Besides," she added, reveling in the irony, "I_ could_ have turned him back, you know – if _someone_ hadn't broken the elevator."

Chell glanced toward the ruined elevator's shaft, then looked back up at GLaDOS with one eyebrow raised. "That's right: that was the only elevator that went down to the chamber containing the Aperture Science Organic and Inorganic Transmogrification Device. And now I have to waste valuable time repairing the elevator. Nice job breaking it, hero." Chell continued to glare at her, and tilted her head expectantly as GLaDOS turned her attention to troubleshooting the lift. Chell couldn't tell what was going on the way the AI could, but she could guess from listening.

Something inside GLaDOS beeped, and a dull hum rose faintly from the shaft. The robot beeped a second time, but this input just caused a creak and groan to echo in the shaft. A few sparks leapt off a wire like startled frogs. "Well, how about that. It goes up, but not down. Convenient. Why don't you just take a ride back up to the surface, and waddle on back to… wherever you've been hiding since I released you. And we can all forget any of this ever happened. No strings attached. I won't try to murder you; you won't try to murder me… I'll just let you go, and you will _never come back._ How does that sound?" Chell shook her head in defiance.

"Alright, fine. I can see I'm not getting rid of you that easily. There is one other way into the Aperture Science Organic and Inorganic Transmogrification Device chamber, but you can't get there directly from here." A panel in the ceiling opened up, and one of GLaDOS's claws descended with a portal gun in its grasp. "So I propose a solution that may benefit some of all of us. You can take the moron and try to find a path through the testing tracks from here to the Aperture Science Organic and Inorganic Transmogrification Device. I will be able to repair the elevator without distractions, and you will get to try this idiotic course of action you seem so bent on taking." Tired of attempting diplomacy, she leaned forward and narrowed her optic in annoyance.

"Of course, I am _not_ letting you loose in my facility without supervision. There will be Personality Constructs and surveillance cameras monitoring you every step of the way. This is the best offer you are going to get before I just pump this room full of deadly neurotoxin. Take it or leave it."

Chell knew there was no other option. She stood up and begrudgingly retrieved the portal gun. GLaDOS drew back in mild surprise. "Really? _Okay… _If you want to risk your life for a moron who tried to murder you, be my guest." _Don't look a gift horse in the mouth,_ she supposed. Free data was free data. The giant robot leaned down and forward, to put her optic right in front of Chell's face as she opened the wall to reveal a catwalk. "Now _go,_ before I change my mind. Do _not_ make me regret my mercy."

The woman did not waste any time jumping at this opportunity. She helped – or rather, hauled – Wheatley to his feet and rushed him, tripping and stumbling like a newborn foal, toward the catwalk.


	5. On Man's Road

"_The moon was gone, but to the magician's eyes the unicorn was the moon, cold and white and very old, lighting his way to safety, or to madness."_

* * *

Chell helped the disoriented once-robot along, as he taught himself the art of balancing and moving on two long, awkward, human legs. She did not look at his eyes – the distress in them was too great, and it hurt her to see it. Even when Wheatley no longer stumbled over his own feet, or lost his balance like a dizzy child, Chell did not let go of his arm.

"You should have left me in the rain," he said suddenly, his voice low and weak. Chell blinked in surprised and looked at him, but he only stared at the catwalk. "I wish I was still in space, or- or in the incinerator, even. Just- just not… _dying_ like this."

Dying? What was he talking about? Chell tilted her head slightly, as a confused dog might. Yes, Wheatley was mortal now, but his body seemed no older than hers, and probably healthier as well. He wasn't going to die any time soon, as far as she could tell. And then she realized that he had spent his entire existence in an inorganic, nonliving form, a body that never aged or healed or changed, except as was imposed upon it by the outside world. Now he was experiencing aging, even as imperceptibly slow as it was from Chell's perspective. Never had she been anything but mortal; she had no point of reference. Perhaps she just couldn't feel herself aging for the same reason she did not feel the weight of the atmosphere above her. Who was she to say that Wheatley could not feel cells withering and being replaced, organs deteriorating, telomeres shrinking; who could say that he couldn't feel his body slowly dying? How horrible it must be, she realized, to experience mortality for the first time. Any distrust or resentment Chell still held against Wheatley was being swiftly overcome by pity.

The two pressed on in somber silence. This was like a nightmare they could not wake from, and they were trapped – trapped in a painful body he hated, trapped in a laboratory she'd thought she was done with. Chell saw a purple ring of light on the management rail ahead, and was at least reminded that they would have someone to guide them, to light their way; she wasn't sure how she felt about that. She remembered when she'd woken from her stasis, when Wheatley would travel on those same rails, how reassuring his presence had been, just having him as a guide. She also remembered how heartbreaking it was to have that comfort and trust torn away from her. Cores on rails brought bittersweet memories.

The core moved toward them. "Greetings and salutations. The Fact Sphere, being the most helpful sphere, will guide you through the first leg of your journey."

"Do you even know where we're going?" Wheatley grumbled. Craig – or that's what Chell assumed his name was, given that he'd said it was the best name in the world – tilted back on his rail and narrowed his optic indignantly.

"Of course I know. In fact I know more than you know about where you're going – and everything else. I am currently in contact with the other two guidance cores via the Remote Communications Network; we are plotting your course as we speak."

Chell just nodded in relief and thankfulness; Wheatley muttered under his breath that he'd been told if he ever used the Comms System, he would die. _But then it wouldn't have been forever, at least, _he mentally added. The 'death' he had so feared as a robot was insignificant and reversible.

"Come with me," the Fact Core said, and zipped along his rail, leading the humans along an elaborate path, rattling off random bits of information along the way. "The oldest human with a confirmed age was a French woman who died in 1997. She was 122 years old." He did not react when Wheatley cringed, only soaring on along his rail as birds fly south for the winter, until he finally came to a stop at a wall. "Wait here," he instructed. Then he vanished around a corner. Moments later the wall opened up, and Craig's voice called out: "The Fact Sphere will be waiting precisely three test chambers from here. You have a 94.7% chance of success."

Chell looked at Wheatley and nodded confidently; her eyes still and gray but full of patient thunder waiting for its time to leap forth. _We __will__ get through this._ Something about her determination and courage was infectious; somewhere deep within Wheatley, a small and delicate flower of hope bloomed – fragile, but alive, sprouting up from under despair like it was the last snow of spring. She would guide him through this darkness as he had once guided her, and they would make it through together, somehow. Chell wouldn't let it end any other way, and Wheatley trusted her to accomplish anything she set her mind on.

This mentality was only reinforced in the test chamber. He waited to the side while Chell solved the test; she zipped in and out of portals, and bounced off of faith plates with elegance and complete control. Wheatley had observed the whole puzzle and wracked his brain for the solution, not only in an attempt to speed it up, but also to take his mind off his situation – but with his limited intellect, he was only able to conclude that the test was impossible. And yet, Chell was solving it before his very eyes. She put a cube on a button, and the door opened. As far as Wheatley was concerned, there was _nothing_ this woman could not do.

But as well as assuring him that he would be returned to his true form, watching Chell also made him feel terribly guilty. As he stood aside and watched her go about solving the next puzzle, he had an unpleasant flashback to when he had forced her to test for his twisted entertainment – a memory he'd attempted to banish. And he felt utterly useless; she was so much smarter than him, it was all he could do to simply stay out of her way. Not to mention, she wouldn't even _be_ here, doing these tests, if it weren't for him. He wanted to do _something_ for her, to ease the burden he'd placed on her shoulders. Something to make it all up to her. If he could just find some way to help, maybe…

His gaze fell on the thermal redirection cube in the middle of the chamber. There were multiple beam receptacles, and it struck Wheatley as awfully inconvenient and slow that Chell had to go back and forth between whatever she was doing and the cube, every time she wanted to activate a different receiver. Maybe he could make himself useful after all. Wheatley stood by and watched for Chell to come around a corner, and when she did he called out to her. "Oh, you don't have to come all the way over here, luv. I'll get the cube for you; which one do you want it pointed at?"

Chell looked rather surprised, but pointed at the thermal discouragement beam receptacle on the far left, and Wheatley adjusted the redirection cube accordingly. It didn't have much of an effect on the test itself, but it worked wonders for their morale; Chell was glad to be saved the trouble of running back and forth, and Wheatley was happy to be useful and distracted from his mortality.


	6. An Enchantment of Error

"'_Any woman can weep without tears,' she answered over her shoulder, 'and most can heal with their hands. It depends on the wound.'"_

* * *

Of course, Wheatley being Wheatley, it was only a matter of time before he screwed up. Chell pointed at one of the receptacles, and he dutifully turned the cube, but he failed to pay attention to where the laser was coming _from_, and inadvertently stepped right into it. Wheatley let out a shout of pain and fell to the ground as easily as a cherry blossom in a strong wind.

He scrambled backwards away from the laser, and then stared at the wound; the long-fall boots did not cover the front of the shin, so the laser had been able to burn right through the fabric of his clothing and scorch his leg. The burn was a small one, a couple inches long and so precise it almost looked like a cut, but though it bled, it did so slowly, since the heat of the laser had seared most of the blood vessels shut. Mostly, it _hurt_, and it hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before. It wasn't that it was worse; it was simply that it lingered after the source of the injury was gone, and a stinging sensation radiated out from the wound. Mechanical injuries, though they had many causes, were limited to one or two kinds of damage, and robots only felt as many varieties of pain, accordingly. And it generally went away immediately after the cause of the pain – a bent part causing cogs to be pushed out of place, a gap between wires, a foreign object, a flame that threatened to melt metal, a strong surge of electricity, water in a circuit – was removed; this, as Wheatley was now discovering, was not the case for humans.

The next thing he knew, Chell was kneeling at his side. To her relief, Wheatley was more alarmed than harmed, even if he did have a rather painful-looking burn to show for his mistake. The woman grimaced; she knew from experience exactly how much discouragement beam burns could hurt. But this was no place to stop because of it, and there was nothing she could do about the wound. Wheatley would simply have to press on, as Chell always had. She took hold of his wrist and pulled him to his feet, looking him in the eyes calmly.

He did not complain about the pain, as she expected him to, but instead went completely silent, perhaps in embarrassment, perhaps in emulation of her mute resolve. _This is her life,_ he thought. He did not understand that Chell could not feel her mortality, but he was coming to the conclusion that to be human was to be in constant pain, and in Aperture, this was actually very near to the truth, even for her. This woman standing before him somehow soldiered on, day after day, through _this_ – and took it all in stride. _She's bloody strong. Brave. Smart, too – of course. Not like me; she's not like me at all._ But a part of him wondered if he might someday change that – if he might someday be more like Chell.

* * *

When the pair reached the third test chamber, Craig was waiting for them, just as promised, just beyond an opened wall panel. He called out to them, and they followed him out of the chamber, emerging into one of Rattmann's dens. Chell started looking around for any supplies the man might have left behind, but Wheatley, having never seen one of these dens before, stared around in bewilderment and curiosity, until an image painted on the wall caught his attention.

"Chell! Look, that's- that's a drawing of you, innit? Ah, it _is_ you! What's that you're holding? In the picture, I mean."

The woman looked up from what she was doing, and turned to the image Wheatley was referring to. Indeed, it was yet another drawing of her. This time, she was depicted sitting with her legs folded to one side, with a unicorn resting its head in her lap, letting her stroke its mane. Without thinking, Wheatley reached out and touched the chalk unicorn, and some of the image came away on his hand, which he immediately felt bad about.

Craig was more than happy to answer Wheatley's question. "Unicorn," he said. "From the Latin _unicornis_, meaning 'one-horned': _unus,_ one, and _cornu_, horn. The unicorn is a mythical animal in multiple Eurasian cultures, usually depicted as a white horse with one horn, and traditionally said to be immortal."

The former test subject paid them no mind. She'd found some very stale crackers and a small container of partially-crystalized honey. She wasn't sure the crackers were still edible, but honey never went bad. It might taste funny as it crystalized, but it never spoiled; that was why-

"Ancient cultures used honey as a natural antibiotic; no bacteria or fungi can live in it." Chell couldn't help but smile slightly. _Yes, Craig. I know._ She looked at the honey thoughtfully. She wasn't as desperate for food as she might have been the last time she'd been in one of Rattmann's dens; she'd eaten some berries just that morning, while she was gathering them. No, the honey would better serve another purpose.

Chell, still kneeling, snapped her fingers to get Wheatley's attention, and gestured for him to come over to her.

"Hm? Do- Do you need something?" he asked; Chell just looked up at him and pointed at the floor. Like a well-trained dog, he sat down where she had indicated. Chell gestured to his injured leg, and he looked down at it, moving it so she could see it better. "It's… not bad. I think. Not an expert on human injuries, I'm not. But- But I don't think it's too serious. Right?" The woman just pulled the burnt cloth around it aside slightly to get a better look. "Ouch!"

There was dried blood around the scabbed, crimson wound, and it was slightly black at the edges. It looked _very_ painful, but not particularly grievous. Due to the nature of the injury, Wheatley hadn't even lost much blood, since the wound was self-cauterizing. What concerned Chell most was the potential for infection; she had no idea what sort of state his new human body's immune system was in.

She looked around, and then looked at Wheatley, her eyes settling on the charcoal-colored cravat at his throat. Why he had one at all, she really didn't know, but she was glad he did. She quickly reached out and, before he could flinch away or question her, tore a piece of it off. Chell opened the container of honey and put some of it on the frayed cloth, while Wheatley watched in baffled curiosity. "Sometimes I really wish you'd talk. You know? Just… just _say_ something now and then, maybe? Warn me when you're going to do something like that. Or at least explain. Or… You know what? Nevermind."

Chell just nodded, letting him ramble on, as she used one hand to hold the burnt clothes away from the wound on Wheatley's leg. "Wait, what are you- oh! Oh I see what you're doing, there! Um… Is- is this going to hurt?" He cringed slightly as Chell applied the honey to his injury and tucked the torn cloth under the straps of the long-fall boot to protect the wound, but it didn't hurt as much as he was expecting it to, and he relaxed a bit. Once it was in place, Chell looked up and gave a small, reassuring smile that Wheatley immediately mirrored. "Thanks, luv. Dunno what I'd do without you, honestly."

"Now that we have completed these primitive human medical procedures, may we move on?" Craig asked, audibly annoyed. "Human repairs are both slow and inefficient, because humans are not optimally designed. Robots are clearly superior. I look on you with 70% disgust and 30% pity, once-machine."

"Gee, thanks for the support, mate…"


End file.
